


Trauma Response

by mistercromeans



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron tracks him down, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breaking and Entering, Degradation, Dom/sub, Gun play, Humiliation, Insults, M/M, Masturbation, Photographs, Slight public play, Spencer acts like an UnSub, Stalking, This is Nothing But Porn, UnSub Play, Voyeurism, stealing clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29455506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistercromeans/pseuds/mistercromeans
Summary: Spencer has had a bug under his skin about trying another way to relieve anxiety and regain mental stability that gets taken away because of the job. He decided to go to the man he’s most comfortable with for it — Aaron Hotchner.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	1. Bush Beating

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is my first criminal minds fic ever and i wrote this genuinely just for my partner but was told to post it anyway  
> so i shall

“It's a trauma response.”

Aaron Hotchner had been mind-deep into looking at the photos in the familiar manila folders, phasing out most of what noise or speaking had been going on around him, until that familiar melody of octaves that came from the young agent hit his eardrums; one of the only things that could've possibly pulled him from his work induced trance. Tired brown eyes would turn their focus from gruesome photos to something much more pleasing to look at.

“A trauma response?” Aaron would reiterate, setting the folder down on the desk he sat at. One he was unfamiliar with, seeing as the group was in Arizona, coming to an end on their latest case. The UnSub had been apprehended, after an exhausting, melancholy chase after them.

“When people in their developmental years, ages 6 to 18, are sexually abused, there is a staggering 85% chance those people will only be able to enjoy any sort of sexual relationship if they can somehow relive that trauma they experienced,” Spencer wouldn’t even stop for a proper breath as he spoke, captivated by his own words. “..people who lost their childhood years because of any sort of trauma, tend to fall towards enjoying a sexual relationship centered around children like themes.” Spencer would look to the palms of his own hands, before his eyes look up and focus on the elder agent again. “Adult diapers, pacifiers, drinking from bottles, usage of the dominant names 'Daddy' and 'Mommy'. People like our UnSub, who experienced a lot of violence during their trauma period, fell into using those same means used on them to get themselves off. They had no other way of doing it, because their head was conditioned to associate that pain with sexual release.” He spoke flawlessly, as he always did. Topics like these are where Spencer excelled the most. Hotch would give a slow nod of his head in understanding despite being aware of everything explained already.

“It would be the same concept as someone like you or me only finding sexual gratification from the violence we see everyday, or only getting a sexual release from being gunned down like the UnSub we catch.” Hotch spoke as his eyes fell back down to the photos in his hands. “Or, developing a kink tied around all of this. Cravings for more pain during sex, asphyxiation..”

“Being hunted.” Spencer says simply, abruptly. There was an almost sweet expression falling over his defined features. “It doesn't always have to end with a sexual release. When it comes to the things that we do, it would make more sense to use it as a way to get a sort of.. 'happy ending'. Hunting or being hunted, and ultimately having 0 casualties in the process. It would be almost therapeutic, even, to engage in something like that, if — if you think about it.” The genius would glance around the office, almost to reassure himself no one else was around.

“Is there something you're trying to tell me, Reid? I don't like bush beating, I'd prefer if you were straightforward with me.” Hotch kept his eyes down on the photos, and Spencer could feel the tips of his ears growing hot from slivers of embarrassment that rose in his chest when getting directly confronted; a usual response that was only associated with confrontation from his boss, though.

“We've done things similar before, together. They're just usually more vacation-based, taking time off, but we're never really dealing with the root issue or thing we want to get away from.” Spencer explains, his hands raising to his stomach to pick and mess with his own nails. “And I—I don't think I'd ever explicitly, you know, ask something like that, especially not from you, Sir. I think that would be crossing a personal comfort boundary. I — I am.. I am positive, actually, that blatantly asking you to engage in something like that with me is crossing a personal comfort boundary.” Spencer was getting lost in his own words.

“But the activity itself doesn't cross that boundary? Just the actual effort of coming to me and asking me to do something like this with you?” Hotch sets the photos down, and closes the folder. He would start to pack everything up, standing from his chair. Taking a glance over to Spencer, he can see the embarrassment moving from his ears and across his cheeks. Hotch watches as an anxious hand raises up to the collar of his sweater, he watches as Spencer’s ability to focus his eyes falters.

“That would — that would be correct, Sir. You are somebody that I trust, very much, mind you, and — and you've helped me through a lot of issues before,” His hands would start to shake, out of pure nervousness. Maybe even a twinge of frustration for that nervousness. “.and I know from your behavioral changes that those same things that help me, also help you.” He would suck in a sharp, short breath. His tone was wavering and the tempo of his speech only got faster, and faster. “You are a lot less t—tense, more.. focused than you already are — which is very focused. I wouldn't ask you in any sort of general.. setting, but I also wouldn't ask you if I thought it was something that might make you.. uncomfortable, or in any way upset—” Spencer was rambling, fast.

Spencer would be cut off by Hotch giving a heavy, loud exhale. Hotch would raise a calloused hand, to signal for the other to stop rambling clear from his ass. Understanding, Spencer would put a stop to his oddly apologetic ramble. Stepping away from his place behind the desk, he sets everything down on the chair that he was holding in his opposite hand. His arms cross over his chest, loosely, waiting for an explanation from the other, not an apology. Another thing Spencer thankfully caught onto fairly quickly, bless his ability to read body language.

“You would.. profile me—”

Hotch would cut Spencer off, immediately. “Spencer, you know we agreed to not profile each other.” Hotch spoke, with a squint to his eyes in a looming suspicion of what would come out of the boy’s mouth next.

“Just.. let me finish, please.” Spencer says. Hotch gives another slow nod of his head. Spencer lets out a breath, shaky and full of a crippling self doubt. “You would profile me, but profile me as if I was an UnSub. One that hasn't offended yet. You need to figure me out, find me..” Spencer shifts his weight from one foot to another. He adjusts his satchel bag around to cover his groin, licking his own lips before continuing his explanation. “You’d apprehend me. No casualties, no.. problems. A happy ending, something good on the psyche for us both. You'd get to have a case of sorts where you can stop me, stop an UnSub before anything bad can really happen. I would have.. no say in how, or when you do anything. That would be completely in your.. hands. Only in your hands.” Spencer would emphasize.

Hotch would take notice of the shifting, the way he trails his words, drifts off, struggling to keep his head focused on the words coming out of his mouth. The elder agent would seem to stop paying attention to Spencer, and there's another shift of anxious feet, the boy genius balancing himself on both of them evenly, standing tense. Taking a look around the room, Hotch would pluck one of the unused folders from his surrogate office's many file holders. Looking back to the other, Spencer has a look of blatant confusion. Hotch points at the door.

“We have to get on the jet. Move, Spencer.” Hotch orders. Spencer would suck in a deep breath, and when it finally clicked in his head? There would be a shaky exhale leaving him. “Wheels up in two hours, we still have things to pack. Not to mention the drive.” Spencer moved quickly out of the office, shoulders hunched and his head looking down to his shoes. He only glances up to take a peek at his surroundings to guide himself. Hotch would walk out after, collected as usual.

Morgan would ask first, what they talked about and what had Spencer so upset, and Hotch explained it was irrelevant. Having the chief role helped, Morgan didn't press further.

Hotch would walk behind Spencer, on their way to the cars, on the way to the jet, walking into the jet, and for those agonizing two hours, Spencer would feel the other man's sharp, intense gaze studying his every step, every movement. The younger man did his best to fight off the excitement that tipped every nerve that covered his skin, but to no avail. Getting onto the jet to go back to their town of Quantico, Spencer found himself struggling to sit down comfortably. Taking a seat by himself more in the front, so he could hurry off once they landed again. Hotch, on the other hand, sat in the far back of the jet. He had a small notebook in hand, writing down the weight, the height, the hair and eye color of the other:

_6’0” even._

_176 pounds carried lean all over his body, his height helps to distribute the fat and keep him on the thin side._

_Physically weak, but mentally strong._

_His hands are calloused, tense and anxious, and more often than not touching or playing with something soft or something familiar._

_Unable to keep eye contact when confronted or made to feel embarrassed._

_Sensitive to situations that could put him into an uncomfortable situation, will react with blatant anger or make an attempt to get physical._

_His hair is brown, virgin. Never dyed and rarely cut, greasy from prolonged periods of not taking a shower._

_His eyes are a deep green._

_His nails are bitten down._

_Struggles to care for himself in basic settings. Lots of pent up frustration in his words, likely from trauma in his past that he’s never talked about or tried to forget._

_Sensitive to dominan—_

Hotch’s writing flow would get interrupted by a decent wave of turbulence. His pen would bump from his hand, and roll down and under one of the seats. He feels no need to go digging for it again, so for now, the pen would remain there. Perfect timing too, once the turbulence ended, the jet would be coming in for a landing.

As usual, everyone would buckle in, and wait for the landing. The all clear is given to get off of the Jet, and Morgan would be the first off. Following would be everybody else. Hotch would be second to last. He makes his way off the jet, and finally, Spencer would be getting off. He looks down to the floor of the jet and notes one of Aarons ties. It probably fell out of his bag. Spencer would roll it up and stuff it into his pocket before exiting completely. From that point on, Spencer and the crew would go home, to come back at the same time in the morning to talk about cases as they usually did.

At home, Spencer would be sitting on his couch. Star Trek re-runs playing on a low volume as he sits in his home clothes. A plain black tee, and a pair of sweats to match. He had that tie in his hands, repeatedly wrapping it around the knuckles on his left hand, touching the fabric to his own wrist, up against his cheek, his lips.. Anywhere he would be able to feel it the most. Holding it up to his nose, he gives a slow inhale, and the memories of today filled his already full head all over again. The heated gaze from the chief of their workplace all over him, biting at his skin, making his chest tight and his stomach swirl with an unfamiliar heat. The knowledge of getting profiled and studied so closely.. he didn’t know this was something that could pull such a rise from him. He almost found it selfish that he stated there would be nothing sexual about this, but here he is.. Spencer would tip his head back against the couch, his eyes coming to a close as he continued to breathe in the smell of his boss, as he continued to do what any UnSub would do — relive his experiences.

A cold hand would move from the arm of the couch, and down between his own legs. Spencer would grope firm against himself, letting out a broken up groan. He couldn’t remember the last time he was able to sit and masturbate on his own, not without watching a movie or a scene he found arousing. But the smell, the thought, the very idea of Aaron Hotchner was sending him up the walls, it was making his head finally fill with something that wasn’t the gruesome and the traumatizing he has to look at every day. He was finding a solace in this man, a ground, a god, somebody he wanted to please. Somebody he wanted to look to, but only up to. Somebody to give his heart to, his body, and his mind. Hotch would make him forget everything. Spencer knows it.

That same hand that gropes slow at himself would push between the skin of his hips and the waistband of his sweats, until he was able to properly wrap his hand around the girth of his stiffened length. He can think back to how much his stomach hurt from today, fighting off this arousal as hard as he could. He was surprised he managed at all to keep it hidden until now. He cursed Hotch for being as attractive as he was in that painful aloofness he kept up with everything that he did. He hated Hotch for having such an intense gaze, and he hated himself for wanting to be the only thing in the mans sights.

It wouldn’t be long, and Spencer wouldn’t take long. Spencer would tug his cock from behind the fabric of his sweats and his underwear, and his teeth would sink into the silk fabric of the tie as he pumps at himself, steady and quick, but uncoordinated, unfamiliar. His eyes would stay closed and he wouldn’t lift his head up. Those eyebrows would be stuck pinched together as he whines and pants out around the tie. He does everything he can to trick his head into thinking that his hand didn’t belong to him, anyone but himself. It needed to be Aaron. Rough, warm hands. Long fingers and a tight grip, tugging and playing with his cock. The name repeats in his head, as the only word he can think of.

Aaron.

_Aaron.._

His hips would shift, and his body would tense and little by little, start to curl in on itself, until he sits straight up, proper. His eyes would open, and with a harsh, loud call of ‘Aaron’ leaving his mouth, the tie would only fall into his lap, just to be painted with a heavy, hot load pulsing from the young man’s cock. Spencer would do his best to milk himself, but his sensitivity would prevent it. He moves his hand away, and relaxes back against the couch again, panting soft to catch his breath.

Like any good detective, any good profiling agent, Hotch would be sitting outside of the boys residence. He watched as the entire scene play out, while ignoring the heat that was trapped and swollen under his own jeans. Like any good agent, he was sure to document the display through pictures, and video. He would drive himself back to his own apartment once Spencer had started to change out of his dirty shirt. The elder would get himself changed and take a cold shower to calm himself down, before ultimately going to sleep. That’s all he was. He was a good agent, studying and watching an offender. A perverse, delicious offender get himself off to stolen articles of clothing. Borderline stalker behavior. Delusion.. He was just being a good agent. That’s why he stayed to watch.

He needed the notes.


	2. Manila Folder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer gets busted, and questioned, like any good suspect should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short. Like I said, written completely for my partner originally. Enjoy anyway though ;w;

Days would progress. 

Three days later, following their agreement, Hotch would catch Spencer alone in the office, reviewing files on his own at the table in one of the conference rooms. Spencer would look up from the pictures, not thinking too much on the collected man coming in as stern in the face as usual. He would perk himself up, and raise one of the pictures in the direction of the other. Spencer would clear his throat before speaking up. 

“These are pretty basic, in terms of profiling. It’s your typical rage on a close friend kind of anger..” Spencer would keep the photo held out to the man, but, when Hotch would cross his arms instead of taking the photo, he lowers his hands again, setting it down on the table. “...Did I do something wrong?” 

That’s when Spencer would take notice of the folder in Hotch’s arm, tucked neatly against his chest. It was the same one he took from the Arizona office, he knows because of the Arizona State Police symbol printed on the front of it. Hotch would drop the file down on top of the stack of photos Spencer had been looking at, and would silently walk to the door of the conference room. He drops the blinds, and locks the door. He stands by it, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Open the file.” Hotch orders. Spencer doesn’t do much to hesitate. 

At first, Spencer would be confused. there were about 5 photos, the first on the stack being of the main window of his living room. Clearly visible was himself, sitting on the couch. Circled on the photo in red was the tie he picked up from the jet, intertwined in his thin fingers. Spencer could feel heat rise up in his cheeks, heavy and dark, as he races his own thoughts to conclude knowing what the next pictures are going to be. Spencer remains speechless. 

“Yesterday. You stole one of my ties. You took it home for yourself, as a trophy of sorts.” Hotch says. “Or perhaps, simply that. A trophy. A stimulus for reliving our conversation from yesterday.” Hotch walks from the door, around to stand behind where Spencer sat. “You took it from me I assume when we were leaving the jet, after turbulence shook the entire jet and knocked things loose. You had all the time after to give it back to me.” Hotch would lean down behind him. His hands on either side of the boy from where he sat, palms flat to the table on either side of where Spencer’s own shaky ones were. “Why didn’t you return it to me?” 

“I—I—I don’t — I don’t .. Hotch, Why did.. why —“ Spencer can’t form a coherent, simple sentence. Hotch fights the smile tugging at his lips. 

“I asked you a question, Dr. Reid.” Hotch spoke, low and heavy, painfully close to the shell of his ear. Spencer felt his head full right back up with that dizziness. “Why would an UnSub take a harmless article of clothing but not return it?” 

“I — I.. I, the UnS—Sub.. probably.. needed it. To.. to f—fulfill desires I didn't — Ones I didn't know that I had..” Spencer spoke in a broken, hushed tone. He didn’t want to get loud. 

“Ulterior motive. You told me, Spencer, you wanted nothing sexual from this. That you wanted it to be purely therapeutic. Look at the next photo.” Hotch says. Spencer would shake his head. 

“N.. No, No. I — I was there, I know what happens next—“ Spencer would turn his head away. 

Hotch would raise a hand up, and tightly grab at the boy's jaw. The elder forces Spencer’s head to look back down to the photos. The immediate heat that rushed his head and his gut was enough to make him blissfully nauseous. He savors the way Hotch’s hand felt against his face, grabbing the hollows of his cheeks, forcing his mouth just slightly agape. He had no control over this. Hotch uses his free hand and would spread out the last four pictures in front of the other. The first was the start of his self pleasure, two were during, and the last was after he had finished. Spencer felt as if he could cry. There was so much embarrassment racking his nerves. 

Spencer started drooling. He was too afraid to swallow and considering the fact his mouth was being held open, it was all he could do. Hotch would let out a  _ chuckle _ , and Spencer felt his spine go cold. Hotch would stand up straight from where he was leaning over the other, releasing his face. Spencer would immediately wipe at his chin, and turn in his seat to look back at the other. Though, before Spencer could slurry out as many apologies as he was able to? 

Hotch would be losing his tie off of his collar. He wraps it around his own knuckles. “Look at the photos, Spencer. I’m not done questioning you. I need to understand my UnSub better, tap into his thought process during this. Thorough studying.”

Spencer obeys. He turns back around and puts his hazy focus into the photos of himself getting off. Hotch came up behind him again, but this time, there was no grip to his jaw, no hands on the table. The tie-wrapped hand would move to cover his nose and his mouth — not tight, but enough to force him to smell it. Spencer felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, toes curling in his shoes. His hands grip tight to the sides of the chair he sat in. 

“This is what you were doing. Wasn't it? Engaging in such a perverse activity despite looking me in the face and telling me you wanted nothing sexual from this, those weren’t your intentions.” Hotch would let his free hand move down to the boys chest. He rubs across it slowly. “You imagined this, didn’t you? Feeling my hands on yourself. You couldn’t stop thinking about how I watched you that day, how I studied you. It felt good, didn’t it? Having no choice but to be watched and monitored. Since I don’t know when you’re going to offend, I _had_ to keep an eye on you A close one.” 

Spencer was pushing himself up some, only enough to force his thighs to spread and squish his stiffened erection between them. He sits back down, squeezing and rubbing his thighs together, in a vain attempt to keep his arousal down. Green, wide eyes focus on the man's face, his expression. He caught the dust of red across his cheeks, he caught the smirk spread across his lips, he caught those intense brown eyes staring clear into his core. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Hotch, not with the way he was watching, staring at him. To the question, Spencer would nod. 

“You wanted to breathe me in. Imagine the way my hands felt against you, think and wonder and ache to hear me speak to you, to have me do anything to you.. Isn't that correct? Are you feeling a sexual connection to this?” Hotch questions. Spencer would smile, loopy and intoxicated. 

“Y—You are too.” He spoke out against the tie. Hotch would grunt, almost frustrated but completely aroused. He would adjust the trajectory of his fingers, forcing the digits into the boy's mouth, to shut him up and to stuff his tie in. 

Once Hotch does that, he would pull himself away. He fixes his suit and collar, and leaning over the other to collect the photos again, he speaks up against his ear. 

“That’s a road you should be careful going down.” 

He sits up again, and makes his way to the door of the conference room. Hotch would exit, domineering and collected, no erection in sight, because unlike Spencer? He was able to control it. The question is, how long will he be able to control himself? 

Hotch closes the door behind himself, and Spencer would pull the tie from his mouth, leaning down against the table to calm down and cool himself off, both mentally and physically.


	3. 0187

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thrilling conclusion to an accidental week-long sex engagement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one! Thank you for reading.

It’s been.. days. A week since their initial conversation, 4 days since their last altercation in the conference room. Spencer has been a wreck about all of it, and everyone knows. Everybody can notice a difference in Spencer’s demeanor, a change in the way he carries himself, at work especially. Spencer took his time every day making sure he didn’t come off as sketchy, or tense, or excited every time Hotch comes in, talks to him, hands him a case file.. it doesn’t take much to have every hair on Spencer’s body stand. 

Naturally, Hotch would notice it too. The same way everybody else at the office did, the only difference is the team hadn’t connected the dots of Spencer’s actions and behavior being tied to Hotch. They all collectively assume that he gets even worse because Spencer is trying his hardest to not act so flustered in front of their chief. 

Another late day had finally come to an end. Just as Spencer has been for the last week, he managed to stick to a routine. He would get himself home, eat healthy, light for once. Not take out. He would actually utilize the kitchen that came with his living place. After cooking himself a nice meal, he would strip himself of the rest of his clothes. Put them into a small washing machine to wash and put into the dryer before bed, then walk his naked self across the halls to his bedroom, to gather a clean towel, clothes, and take a shower. Spencer hasn’t followed a routine in years, but there’s such an anticipation for what he’s doing with Hotch, that he can’t help but want to be ready for everything. 

Clothes laid out on the bed, the young agent would take himself back to the bathroom, belly full of a chicken salad and two glasses of ice cold water. He felt.. refreshed, despite his day at work. A good meal and a shower does wonders on the body when you actually do them routinely. 

Spencer starts up the water, standing idle for it to get hot. He picks up his cellphone to check for any outstanding texts, but finds none, thankfully. His attention goes to his mirror cabinet, opening the swing door up to pick up carefully laundered ties, one black and one red. They don’t smell like Hotch anymore, but he was alright with that. He could still touch his nose to the silky fabric and envision his boss standing before him, towering over him, and he can safely tuck his nose against his chest.. it’s a calm, sickeningly sweet fantasy to have. 

Spencer climbs into the shower, so he can get to washing himself, calm and peaceful in his head for, again, the first time in months. 

All the while, Hotch would be sitting outside in a black car as usual, unsuspecting to anybody who happens to drive by. He watches through binoculars again as Spencer goes about the routine he’s been making himself follow, and he waits until that perfectly timed shower comes around. He watches with a twisted feeling in his gut as Spencer’s nude body walks slow, across the rooms, and into new ones, almost as if he was putting on a show.. as if Spencer knew Hotch spent the last week watching and studying him, everywhere he is, everything that he does. 

And once he timed the minutes it took for Spencer to check his cell phone, wait for the water to heat, and get into the shower, Hotch would climb out of the car. 

Walking up to his front door was risky, but the most obvious thing he would be able to do. He can easily play it off as paying a visit to Spencer if anyone dared question him, but he doubts they will. Using a standard lock-pick it was easy to open his door, and step inside, closing and locking it behind himself. 

He listened to the beeps on the wall for a security code. Nothing loud, just small beeps from the machine signaling for a passcode to turn it off. Hotch punches in 4 numbers — 0187. It shuts off. As unpredictable as Spencer was, his IQ number would be a perfect thing to use for this. It was an easy guess. 

Once the alarm system was disarmed, Hotch pulled his gun from his holster. He ensures the safety is on before making his way quietly down the halls of Spencer’s home. Hotch could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands sweating as they held his gun tight in his two hands, pointed down as he looks and peeks around, until he’s just outside the hallway of Spencer’s bedroom. Hotch let’s put a silent breath, waiting. Just on time, Spencer would exit his shower, and pick up his towel to start drying himself off as he walks back out into his bedroom. 

Spencer air dries. So, he lays the towel down on the bed next to his clothes, and typically, he would turn around and sit on it. Just not tonight, seeing as the second he bent forward just enough to spread the towel out on his bed, Hotch would be walking up behind him. Spencer can hear the light footsteps approaching, and he picks his towel back up, to keep his groin covered. He stood with his back to Hotch still, and listened with excited ears as the man spoke. 

“Somebody who used to be so profoundly unorganized at home, in taking care of himself, spends the last week he lived in nothing but a firm, strict order placed by no outside figure.” Hotch would start. Spencer would be biting at his lower lip, clenching the towel between his hands tightly. He would only tense when he felt the cold tip of a gun press to his lower back. On instinct, Spencer would raise both hands up, weak and shaky, purely from the arousal of the situation building higher and higher in his head. “You change your entire life around because you’re expecting me. You want me to watch you, Spencer. You want me to like what I see, what I watch you do, and you can’t help yourself but to get off to it as much as you can.” Hotch would lean in more, keeping the gun against the curve of his spine while a free hand held tight to the boy's hip. “Keeping your blinds open for me to watch, despite the dangers of somebody else seeing. You put yourself at risk because you so desperately wanted me to watch you, to be as excited for you as you are for me.”

Spencer swallows thick. Hotch would slide his hand from that hip and up against his chest, groping against the flat pectoralis there, just to feel the skin give under his palm and fingers. Spencer keens, his head tipping back just a little. Hotch would only cock the gun, despite it being empty and safety being switched on. Spencer would start to shift on his feet again, eyes wide. 

“When before.. you were nothing. You were a boy lost in his own head, crowded constantly by words and fears and nightmares you can’t seem to stop having. Despite all of that, though, you seem desperate for control. At first glance it seems like you will do everything and anything to gain control..” Hotch leans down. He presses his nose up against the crook of his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his wet, clean skin. Spencer’s head tips out of the way, exposing more to the man. “But it’s the opposite, Spencer. You will do anything, and I mean _anything_ to stop having control for once. For a second, for even a millisecond. You don’t want to think for yourself, and you attach to me, your victim, your prize and your ultimate goal, because I am somebody in a higher position than you. Somebody with power, that can strip you of everything and make you mindless, bending to everything I could ever say or ask you to do for me. And you would do it, because you know I could punish you in ways you would never be able to imagine.” 

Hotch presses a slow, hot kiss against Spencer’s shoulder. Glancing forward, he can see the erection stuff between the boys thighs. He would stand behind him completely, sliding the tip of that gun from lower back and around to his groin. He taps the underside of Spencer’s cock, and watches him squirm, trying to make himself buckle forward to protect himself. 

“H—Hotch—“ Spencer chokes out, before.. quite literally choking. An arm would secure around his neck, locking him in place without the pressure. A headlock, just.. to keep Spencer still. The boys arms reach up to hold at Aaron’s forearm, and those very same soft thighs would tremble as a cold gun barrel would slowly rub from the lower most of his shaft, clear up to the beet red head of his cock. “Hotch, p— _please_..” 

“Please what? Stop? Your body language and the way you have been begging me to break into your home, Spencer, to break in and _use_ you? You don’t want me to stop, Spencer. So if you’re going to beg me for anything, I suggest you make it specific.” Hotch warns. His tone was cold, but cold in a way that made Spencer practically jump on his feet trying to release some of the excitement trapped inside of him. He whines, grunting before throwing his head back again, to rest against Hotch. 

“M—My.. My motive.” Spencer says. He shuts his eyes tight. “What was my m—motive, my end goal?” Hotch would tighten his arm around his neck some, tapping the tip of the gun to the head of the boys bubbling, oozing cock. 

Hotch kisses on his shoulder again, letting out a heavy sigh against his burning skin. “Your motive was always the same. These lips,” Hotch unhooks his arm from around his neck to stuff his warm fingers into the boy's mouth. Spencer grunts and sucks against them, almost immediately. “..told me you wouldn’t gain anything sexually, yet you still got hard as a rock trying to tell me what I would be doing during all of this. Hiding yourself with your bag..” The gun would be tossed onto the bed. 

Spencer would be lost on the man's fingers, soaking in the saltiness of them, how thick they were, how rough Hotch was being.. But that enjoyment would come to an end as they pull from his mouth, and Spencer is getting shoved down over the edge of his own bed. Hotch sets a hand to the back of his head, keeping him pinned this way. Spencer turns just enough to be able to breathe proper, despite being pinned. His thighs close and he sways, embarrassed.

“Your end goal, Spencer, was to get me to lose my control, lose my composure. You wanted to push me as far as you could,” Hotch lowers wet fingers down, easily pressing between the soft, small cheeks of the other. His middle finger would run slow, soaked circles against the unused, pink ring of muscle the other had. He watched as his body tensed, muscles in his back visibly twitching. “to get me to where I am now.. Desperate. Angry. I am _so_ angry with you, Spencer Reid. The way you’ve teased and taunted me.. stolen my ties for your own perverse acts. You’re nothing shy of a stalker, a non-offending stalker. It's a good thing now, that I’m here to stop you, put a stop to these whorish fantasies, these disgusting little delusions..” Hotch allows that finger to press inside of him, to give the poor squirming boy what he wants. 

Spencer would push his hips back against his finger, to plunge it in as deep as he could get it. Letting out a broken, breathless moan, his hands raise to grab tight to the blanket under him. Hotch would feel the way the boys tight muscles contracted and twitched around his finger, aching for more. Hotch would pump and move that finger in, and out of him, slow and careful. Moving a hand from his hair, he picks the gun back up. He presses it to the back of his head, and Spencer would start drooling again. 

As a second finger meets the first, curling and spreading him, Spencer would be shaking. His thighs trembled and his hands shook against the blanket they held so tight to. The words that Hotch spoke had rung in his head. _Perverse_ . _Stalker_ . _Whorish. Disgusting_. Spencer was a perfect UnSub for somebody like Aaron. 

Hotch came prepared, though. He would set the cold gun down to the others bare back, and reach into his back pocket to pull out a single lubricated condom. He tears it open with his teeth and pulls it out, those fingers not once stopping. He plucks the gun up with his empty fingers and bites the handle, so he can more easily roll the condom over the barrel of the gun. He would hold the gun again, proper. Spencer looks back, confused. 

But those gorgeous eyes would only grow wide as fingers are replaced with a sticky, wet, cold barrel of a gun. It slid in so easy and so suddenly that Spencer didn’t have time to give a proper denial. He digs those bitten nails into the blanket as hard as he can get them, pulling to try and put distance between himself and the gun, but Hotch only persisted. He only pressed it inside more, and more, and Spencer cursed himself for how easy it was moving. 

Spencer was being fucked with a pistol. 

Spencer had his head up, but hanging, drooling shamefully into the blanket under him as Hotch stuffs the gun inside, over and over. He clenched down around it. It felt odd, obviously not the usual full sensation, but it was so painfully arousing that he could hardly focus on it. 

“Disgusting.” Hotch says. Spencer would drop his head in defeat into the wet blanket under him. 

“I k—kn—know, I—I’m disgusting — The worst k—i— _aah_ —“ Spencer chokes out a quiet sob. His eyeline pricked with fat little tears. “Worst k—kind— kind of — UnSub—“ 

“You are. Dirty at your core, enough to where being stuffed with a loaded, cocked gun is sending you so up the walls you’re _crying_ ? You’re a pervert, Spencer. A slut. You crave being dominated, used like nothing but a toy. You want to be my toy. Say it.” Hotch spoke, in such a tone that Spencer has never heard before, ever. It was riddled with intense lust, excitement. It was deep and it was raspy and it was _so attractive._

“I w—want— I want m—my, my— my object of aff— _fuck_ — affection to — to use —“ Spencer would start to tense, and curl, and the words would start to get stuck in his throat. “Use m—use me! Use me!” 

That last burst of words came out in a _scream_ from Spencer. Hotch watches as a ruined orgasm weakly drips from the head of his stiff, aching cock. The man would _laugh_ , and Spencer felt unrelieved, and so, so excited. He would go as far as to reach a hand back and keep himself spread open as Hotch pulls the gun from him. He’s expectant. He’s impatient, and Hotch can’t say no to his silent begs right now. The desperate pants and the quiet sobs as he waits to be filled, to be full, to be used and fucked until he can’t take it anymore. 

Hotch would squeeze the condom, take as much of the lube as he could off of it, and spit into his hand one more time to make it as wet as possible. With a quick hand, he unbuttons just fly and tugs his own thick, heavy cock free. He would let the gun fall on the floor, and seeing as Spencer kept himself open, spread? He wouldn’t hesitate to coat his cock well, and lean over the other, to pop the fat head inside of that used hole. Spencer felt his mind go blank, an intoxicating kind of blank that made his body feel like it was covered in a warm blanket made of pure sunshine and all things good. 

And the more Hotch pressed inside, the more rapid those pants from the other got, the louder those whines and sobs got, and by the time Hotch had finally let his entire cock be swallowed up? Spencer was begging his poor heart out for the other man to move inside of him. 

Hotch would oblige. Spencer’s hand goes back to holding the blanket, and Hotch grabs at both of his thin, bony hips. He would yank the poor thing back on every thrust forward, to fuck into him deep, to pull more of those cries and those screams. Spencer had hot tears rolling down his cheeks, drool covering his chin, and snot leaving his nostrils, and he has never felt more dirty in his life. 

“Oh—m—m, my g— _god—“_ Spencer had his eyes shut tight. He was losing his muscle function, in his legs and his hands were starting to get weak. 

“God isn’t my name, Spencer. You had no problem crying it out by yourself, just a few days after stealing my clothes.” Hotch had his own fingers digging into the boys hips. Spencer shook his head. “My name, Spencer. My name.” 

“A—a—hh! Aa—Aar—“ Spencer was trying. He was. He was trying harder than he’s ever tried for anything in his life, but he can’t make it come up, and Hotch was only fucking him harder. Spencer couldn’t stop crying. 

He’s never had sex with a man before, and the way Hotch was bumping and rubbing tight knots inside of him was too much. Too overwhelming. Spencer could feel his vision blurring, and Hotch only made it worse. The hands, his cock, all of it was too much. Spencer could hardly breathe and it was to the point his chest was aching and his head was spinning. 

“I gave you _one_ order, Spencer. One. And you can’t even manage that? After everything you’ve been doing to me? You’re cruel. You’re so cruel, Spencer.” Hotch would feel completely mindless, mentally broken as he takes out every last frustration he has ever had on this poor thing. 

“Aa—ron! I _can’t —_ I ca—aah I can't _breathe!_ ” Spencer would tense, and relax, in such a rapid succession. To Hotch, Spencer would feel.. limp. Like he was finally nothing more than a toy for this man to use, and it was good. It was too good. Spencer could hardly process the intense orgasm he was having, free from any thoughts, any fears, anything bad or scary or hurtful. His head was filled with the man taking him, and using him, and abusing him. Hotch would be leaning over him, mounting, stuffing his cock inside as much as he could as the older man pulsed a hot, thick orgasm, a painfully heavy load inside of the smaller man. “F—f.. f—ck..” A broken, raw-throat whine left him, before the boy fell completely silent. 

Once Hotch relaxed? He would notice Spencer being.. out. Unconscious, with his eyes closed and his body twitching. 

The chief would watch and admire his body, rubbing and petting him until the boy relaxed enough for him to pull out, careful and slow. He listened for any words, any movements that indicate a bad sort of pain, but all that he got was soft whines and soft mumbles of his name. It was.. adorable, to say the least, the way Spencer was so comfortable, so gentle when he was finished and used and taken care of properly. 

A game of cat and mouse was finally over. 


End file.
